


The Unwelcome Guest

by thornfield_girl



Series: Friends With the Enemy [4]
Category: Justified
Genre: Bonding, Established Relationship, Grudging Affection, Jealousy, M/M, Old Friends, Snark, Tim still has a thing about Boyd, forced cohabitation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-20 18:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1521011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raylan and Tim are awoken in the middle of the night by someone neither of them really wants to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I started this before last season, so there's not really any concession to stuff that happened in it. This is very much AU at this point, just so you know.

Raylan was in the middle of a vaguely disconcerting dream involving Winona and a vibrator he'd once found in the back of her bedside table when they were first dating. He'd been uneasy about it at the time, being young and ridiculously stupid about such things, but there was no reason he should be dreaming about it now, and even less reason why it should sound like a jackhammer. 

"Raylan! Wake up." 

He was shaken out of his dream. This was very briefly a relief, before he became aware that the jackhammer sound was still happening, and coming from the front door. It was also raining outside, pretty heavily.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mumbled, then swung his legs out of bed. Tim had already pulled on jeans and was checking his gun. Raylan grabbed the flannel sleep pants he'd discarded next to the bed the night before and pulled them on. 

Either of them could be a target. Raylan had made a lot of enemies in Kentucky in the relatively short time he'd been there, and Tim was currently working on a case in conjunction with the DEA, involving some small-time but extremely violent local organizations. They were always cautious.

They went quickly and quietly down the stairs. Just as Tim started rounding the corner to the entranceway, Raylan grabbed his arm. As soon as he turned, Raylan pulled him in and kissed him fast and hard on the mouth, then gave him a slightly insane grin. "That was in case I die tonight," he murmured. 

"If you die, I'll be pissed, Raylan. I'll know it was just to get out of going to my sister's wedding."

Raylan snorted. "It'll be like a gift to the happy couple, darlin', you know they don't want me there."

Tim held his gun at the ready and crept to the door, preparing to yank it open. They really needed to get a peephole installed. Just then, a familiar but unwelcome voice came through the door. 

"You ain't ninjas, I can hear you creepin' in there. Could you please open up?"

Tim groaned and turned to look at Raylan. "Can I shoot him anyway?"

"Go ahead," Raylan said. "I can't guarantee he can actually be killed, though. We maybe need a stake, or something."

"I heard that, Raylan. They obviously replaced this door when they reno'd it for upwardly mobile urban homos such as yourselves. It looks nice, but it's cheap."

Raylan rolled his eyes. "Go away, Boyd. I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing, coming here at," he checked his watch, "2:46 in the AM, on a fuckin' Tuesday. And come to think, how do you even know where I live?"

"I make a habit of keeping track of you, Raylan. Always have. And there's a perfectly logical reason I'm here, if you'd just let me in please, I'll explain."

Raylan looked at Tim. "You want me to tell him to fuck off, I will," he said in a low voice, "but now I'm curious."

"I think that was the idea," Tim replied, "but I don't care. By all means, let your shady, bank robbing, heroin dealing ex-boyfriend with the Nazi tats into our house in the middle of the night. What's the worst that could happen?" 

"Why thank you, Timothy," Boyd called from the front step. 

"I'm sensing sarcasm, Timmy. What do you want me to do, here?"

Tim sighed and turned around, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the door. "I'm gonna put my shirt on. You want me to grab yours?"

"Yes," Raylan said, then distinctly heard Boyd mutter, "Killjoy." It occurred to Raylan that they might want to consider replacing the door with a more solid one. 

He opened the door to find Boyd, soaked to the bone and carrying a small gym bag. "Before you come in, I want to know what's in that bag," Raylan said. 

"Certainly," Boyd answered. "I would expect nothing else. Here." He pulled the bag off his shoulder and handed it over.

Raylan took it warily as Tim came down the stairs. "What's that?" Tim asked in a flat tone. 

Raylan glanced up at Boyd through his lashes, then unzipped the bag. When he got a look at what was inside, he let out a low whistle and looked up again with a frown. 

"What are you playing at?" he asked. Tim pulled the bag from his hands and gave Raylan the t-shirt he'd brought from the bedroom.

"What the fuck?" Tim asked. "This bag is full of guns, Crowder. 

Boyd smiled in a typically inscrutable fashion, flicked his eyes between them as Raylan pulled on his shirt, then said, "You know, you two are something to see. I honestly never imagined you had it in you, Raylan."

"Go ahead and add that to the list of things you never understood about me, Boyd," Raylan said mildly. "Now, how 'bout you explain about them guns."

"All in good time," Boyd said, "but I wonder if I could impose upon you for the loan of a set of dry clothes."

Raylan noticed for the first time that Boyd was shivering - just slightly - and dripping on the hardwood in the hallway. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He felt like an asshole already, with Boyd barging in like he had, but Tim let him off the hook. 

"Come on, Crowder. I'll get you something to wear." As they headed upstairs, Raylan heard him ask, "You want to hop in the shower for a few minutes, warm up?" A rush of warm feeling for Tim filled his chest for a moment, and he grinned to himself as he flopped down on the living room sofa.

Tim came back downstairs after a minute or so and sat next to him. "What do you think is going on?" he asked.

"I couldn't begin to guess," Raylan said, yawning. "Find out soon enough." He leaned into Tim's shoulder. 

"Come here," Tim said, pulling at him and trying to get him to rest against his chest. Raylan resisted. 

"I don't feel much like cuddling if Boyd Crowder's gonna come wandering back in here in a minute."

Tim huffed very softly and said, "He'll probably just say we're adorable or some shit."

"I believe 'upwardly mobile urban homos' was the phrase of choice. Which is bullshit, by the way. I have completely given up any hopes of moving up. I'm good where I am. Unlike that striving asshole." Still, he put his head on Tim's chest as he slouched against the arm of the sofa. 

He must have dozed, because the next thing he was aware of was Boyd's voice saying, "Ain't that sweet," in a tone that Raylan couldn't quite pin down. It was almost mocking, but there was something else in it, a bone-deep exhaustion. He sat in the armchair adjacent to the couch. He was wearing a pair of Tim's jeans and an old flannel shirt of Raylan's. He looked softer, Raylan thought, out of his usual garb. Better, at least to him. He also looked very tired.

Raylan reluctantly sat up and leaned forward. "Let's go, Boyd, make with the story. What are you and this bag of guns doing here at our house?"

"Well, first may I say this is a lovely home, Raylan. A little sparse in the furnishings, but I think that suits. The shower was very nice, and much appreciated."

Raylan ground his teeth. "Boyd-"

"I apologize, Raylan, of course. I took those guns off a man named Danny Amelin who tried, very nearly successfully, to kill me. I managed to gain the upper hand, but unfortunately, he escaped before I was able to properly subdue him and call the authorities."

Raylan narrowed his eyes at him. "Boyd, if we're going to find a body, you might as well just tell me now."

"Honestly, why would I be here if I'd killed the man?"

Tim snorted and said, "I don't know why you're here anyway. Why not just drive back to Harlan with your sack of bonus automatic weapons? What the hell do you want us to do with them?"

Boyd smiled calmly and said, "I expect you you bring them in and do...whatever it is you people do with illegal weapons when you find them. I'll happily come in and give a statement as to their origins, as well as provide information as to where more of the same can be found."  
Boyd leaned forward and said, very softly, "I can hand you Wynn Duffy on a platter."

Tim's eyes widened, and he looked at Raylan sharply. Raylan shook his head. "And what happens then?" he asked. "You give us Wynn Duffy, Tonin will have your head in twenty-four hours."

Boyd shrugged, sat back and crossed his legs. "Maybe so, maybe not. That ain't your concern. You want Duffy and all them guns - and there are a lot of guns - or don't you?"

Raylan didn't answer right away, so Tim asked, "Why come here?"

"Pardon?"

"Why come here instead of just calling the goddamn cops?"

"Well," Boyd said, "the cops wouldn't have let me shower or lent me dry clothes. And of course, I've been dying to see the place. I saw the little girl's room. Did you decorate it yourself, Raylan?" Raylan just raised an eyebrow at him, and he broke into a huge grin. "Nice job, Timothy."

"Actually, Winona picked everything out," Tim said dryly. "Do I truly strike you as someone who knows how to decorate a room for a baby girl?"

"I sincerely apologize for falling back on stereotypes, Deputy Marshal Gutterson. Did that not rankle just a little bit to have Raylan's ex come in here and assert herself in such a manner?"

Tim barked a laugh. "Why on earth would you think _that_ would bother me? As a matter of fact, I asked her. I wanted Raylan's daughter to feel welcome, not like she's been shoved in a storage locker."

"A girl's room in a house for men," Boyd said. "She may feel odd despite your best efforts, once she's old enough to know things."

Raylan made an impatient noise at that, then said, "Look, Boyd, my daughter's gonna be fine. She ain't growin' up like we did, and thank Christ for that. In any case, it ain't your business. You want to make a statement? Fine, let's go. I'll get my shoes on. Yours are probably still wet, but you'll just have to live with it."

They left the house a few minutes later, and Raylan got on the phone to David Vasqez while Tim drove. Boyd sprawled in the back seat as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if the bag of guns currently residing in the trunk of Tim’s car was a mildly amusing diversion.

When Raylan had finished his phone call, Boyd said, “Does Mr. Vasquez know about your, ah, circumstances? I’d imagine you need to keep it hush hush, what with working in the same office. Or am I mistaken about that?”

Tim shot a glance at Raylan, and he closed his eyes and suppressed a groan. Boyd was right, of course. Vasquez hadn’t been told, although it was entirely possible that he’d heard through the rumor mill. Art had asked them to be discreet, even after they’d moved in together and he’d split them up as partners. People were definitely beginning to talk, though. It wasn’t really possible to conduct a relationship in secret, when you lived and worked together, and neither of them really wanted to do that anyway. Still, Vasquez would want to know why they were both there, with Boyd, in the middle of the night. 

"How about you just worry about yourself, Boyd?" Raylan said irritably. "Why are you turning on Duffy, anyway? I thought you two had a good thing going. You're like the weird hair twins."

Boyd laughed. "Fuck you, Raylan. You always liked my hair, anyway."

"That was when I liked you, which was so long ago I can barely remember it. And you had more of it then, anyway."

"Ouch," Boyd said amiably. "We all get old, Raylan, if we're lucky. Hey, you mind if I smoke back here?"

Yes," Tim and Raylan said in unison.

Vasquez was waiting for them at the office when they arrived, looking disheveled and irritated. He covered a grin when he saw them walking up, so Raylan figured he must have already been clued in. 

"There must be an interesting story behind this," he said. 

"Save it," Tim said, glaring darkly at him.

"Sure thing," Vasquez replied, openly smirking, "I didn't get up at three am for a soap opera. Could have just set my DVR for the LOGO channel if that's what I-"

"David," Raylan said in a calm voice that nevertheless managed to convey the end of his patience, "I realize this is funny to you, but if you don't rein it in real quick I'm going to start having a problem with it. I'm fucking tired, and I am unfortunately certain that this is going to be a giant pain in the ass. So could we move it along before I either hit you or threaten you with a hostile work environment suit?"

David raises his hands in surrender. "Just kidding, Raylan, no offense. And Tim." He looked at Boyd like he was wondering, for a second, if he should apologize to him as well.

Tim rolled his eyes. "Is Art coming?"

"Should be here any minute," Vasquez said, "so let's just go on in and get shit set up. Crowder here can give his statement, and then we can discuss how this is going to go down." 

They went upstairs and headed for the conference room. Raylan started to follow Vasquez and Boyd in, but David turned and held up his hand. "Sorry man, but Art doesn't want you in here for this. He called specifically to tell me. He said things always get fucked up when it involves Crowder."

"Well, that ain't-" He huffed a sigh, realizing there was no point at all in arguing. Particularly because he had no argument to make. "Fine, whatever," he muttered. 

He sat down at his desk and put his feet up, tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Fuck Vasquez anyway, he thought as he was drifting off. Fucking LOGO channel, what an asshole. 

He was sharply awoken by the feeling of his boots being swept briskly off the desk, and he came very close to pulling on whoever it was who did that. Thankfully he didn't, though, since it was Art.

"Shit," Raylan said, blinking awake. "That was fucking rude."

"Yeah, well, it's your fault I'm up in the middle of the night. Not conducive to good manners."

"My fault? You'd prefer I sent Boyd Crowder away with his bag of goddamn assault rifles?

"Son, you are the only person I know to whom such a thing would ever happen," Art sighed. "What's his game, anyhow?"

Raylan shrugged. "Best I can tell, he wants a hundred percent of whatever he's got going with Wynn Duffy. He may very well have cleared this with Theo Tonin, seeing as how he was singularly unconcerned when I asked about that."

Art nodded and looked thoughtfully at the conference room door for a minute. Without looking at Raylan again, he said, "Whatever we decide to do about Duffy and this suppose stash of weapons, you are not to go anywhere near it. I've had my goddamn fill of you and him, you hear me?"

"Yeah, Art, I hear you."

"And frankly, I'm wondering if I should be concerned about Gutterson as well."

"Why?" Raylan asked, genuinely confused.

"Raylan, the man presumes to show up at your house in the middle of the night, and you're telling me your boyfriend doesn't have any problem at all with that?"

Raylan gaped at him. There's no way he could know about Boyd and him. The only people who could have told were Tim, Winona and Boyd himself. He blinked as he realized that none of those people were out of the question. 

"Art," Raylan said slowly, "there ain't no reason for Tim to have any more of a problem with it than me. I ain't sure what you're getting at, but I think we should just drop it. Neither one of us really wants to have this conversation, do we?"

Art shifted and looked ready to launch into a lecture, but thankfully the door to the conference room opened and Tim beckoned Art in, looking over apologetically at Raylan. After some time, Boyd came out and walked over to Raylan. 

“They kick you out too?” Raylan asked. 

“I believe they might be talking about me behind my back,” Boyd said, leaning against the desk. 

Raylan gazed up at him for a few seconds. “You know, Boyd, I’m getting awfully sick of you using the Marshal’s office every time you need to get yourself out of a sticky situation, leading us around by the nose until someone gets killed. One of these days that someone is gonna be you, you do realize that, right?”

“You worried about that?” Boyd’s voice was neutral, actually sounding curious rather than mocking.

Raylan was silent for awhile. Finally, he said, “I don’t want to have to do it.”

Boyd nodded, and they didn’t speak again until the three men came out of the room. Art barked at Raylan to come into his office, and Tim came out to sit with Boyd. 

“Yeah, Art?” 

“Shut the door, son,” Art said, pulling out two glasses and a bottle. 

“Alright,” Raylan said warily accepting a drink. 

“How much did Crowder tell you?”

“Just that there’s a shit load of guns, and he can give us Wynn Duffy,” Raylan said, suddenly nervous.

Art sighed. “Well, as a matter of fact, it’s a lot more serious than that. He wants to trade information on Detroit for the release of Ava Crowder. He’s offering quite a lot.” He peered at Raylan intently. “I don’t know why he would have thought to hold that back from you.”

“I have no idea,” Raylan replied.

“Uh huh.” Art crossed his arms and tilted his head. “What was the nature of your relationship with Boyd Crowder before you left Harlan?”

Raylan gave an involuntary slight shake of his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Raylan, I want you to be real careful right now. Do not lie to me, you’ll be sorry.”

Raylan worked his jaw, trying to figure out the best play. He wanted so badly to lie. There was no way that Art knowing about him and Boyd could be anything but bad. He could come out defensive, tell him it’s none of his business, but that wouldn’t be strictly true either. In the end, he sighed and sat down on the couch with his drink.

“We screwed around,” he said, meeting Art’s eyes and refusing to look away. “We might have been in love for a little while,” he said. 

Art’s eyes widened, and he took a pull from his glass. He looked so pissed, and in truth Raylan couldn’t really blame him. 

"You know," Art mused, "when I first realized what was going on between you and Tim, my first reaction was not great. I kept it to myself, because I realized that I was an old fart who had fairly traditional views about how men should behave, and what they should want. Now, I'm not so ignorant that I didn't understand that this was a failing of my own and not yours or his. I live in the real world, I pay attention. So I kept quiet, maybe longer than I should have, and maybe I was hoping things would change. But they didn't. And I've come around to whatever is between you two. You keep it to yourselves, mostly, like I asked."

Raylan was beginning to get irritated now. He didn't really give as much of a shit about Art's reaction as he'd once thought he would, and he didn't particularly appreciate hearing it laid out for him now. He took a drink and raised his brows at the man. 

"Your point?" he asked.

"My point, Raylan, is that accepting that is not the same as being okay with this. You lied to me, and by doing that, you have compromised every interaction this office has had with the Crowders since you came here. Don't you think the fact that you were once _in love_ \- Jesus H. Christ - with Boyd Crowder might have been important to mention?"

"I can't imagine why I hesitated to mention it," Raylan said, feeling a righteous anger rising in him, "considering your disgust over my relationship with Tim."

"I never said I was disgusted," Art shot back.

"You didn't have to say it. I knew you before, remember? You don't think I felt it every time you made some joke that showed your clear discomfort with the subject?"

"Well, you never said anything."

"No, you just assumed. Which is fine, I was married, people make assumptions, I get it. I ain't blaming you for that. But how easy do you think it would have been for me to tell you why it was a problem for me, knowing how you felt about it?" 

Raylan had never given any of this much thought before this conversation had started, but he could feel it welling up now. Every stupid joke, every dismissive comment Art had ever made, felt personal now in a way he'd never experienced before. He'd always let it slide off his shoulders, thinking, _well, he don't mean it, it's just a joke, he doesn't realize, and it don't really apply to me anyway_. 

"I don't give a shit what was easy or not," Art said, "you fucked up. And you know it, which is why you're so pissed off now."

 _You fucked up too, asshole,_ Raylan thought, but didn’t say. What he did say was, “Are we done?”

Art scowled at him, but all he said was, “I guess we are.”

Raylan got up and walked out, leaving the door open behind him. Tim, Boyd and David Vasquez were standing in a circle, talking quietly. 

“So, what now?” Raylan asked. “Seeing as how I’m out of the goddamn loop, should I just go home and sleep?”

Vasquez looked at him with an unconvincing, strained smile and said, “Well actually, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Raylan glanced at Tim, who had his hands on his hips and was looking down at the ground. He looked up briefly and met Raylan’s eyes uncomfortably, for just a second. 

“What?” Raylan asked warily. He didn’t like the looks of this little confab one bit.

“Well...the thing is, Raylan, Crowder isn’t safe in Harlan right now. He’s not really safe in Lexington either. Now, we could put some protection with him, but we’re afraid of the optics there. This is bigger than we initially thought, and we really don’t want it getting fucked up.”

“So put him in a safe house,” Raylan suggested, as if they wouldn’t have already considered that. 

“It’s occupied,” Vasquez said, “and I don’t think Art really wants to put Crowder up on his sofa for the next - at least - two nights. So what I was thinking was -”

“Out of the question,” Art said, coming up behind Raylan. “These two have caused this office more than enough grief in the past year. There’s no way that would work.”

“Sure it could,” Raylan said, surprising both himself and, clearly, Tim, who was now staring at him. He gazed implacably at Art, daring him to say why he thought this was so inappropriate. He was quite sure he didn’t want Vasquez hearing anything about it, since it would call a great deal into question in a way that would be disruptive at best, and destructive at worst. “I’m sure I can refrain from shooting the man for two days.”

Vasquez was looking between them, obviously aware that there was something unspoken happening here. “Look, if this is really going to be a problem, we can figure something else out.”

“It’s fine,” Raylan said, looking at Tim to make sure it really was. Tim looked resigned and wearily amused, so Raylan nodded. “I wouldn’t want to fuck this up. Not with Ava’s freedom at stake,” he added in a disingenuous voice. He could feel Boyd’s eyes on him after that statement, but he steadfastly kept himself from turning in his direction. 

Vasquez nodded briskly and said, “Alright, I’ll get the paperwork sorted out. Thanks, Raylan.” Raylan noticed that he’d spoken only to him and not to Tim. He must have already cleared it with him. He walked away, and Art waited until he was out of earshot before speaking. 

“You’re a real asshole, Raylan,” he growled. He looked hard at Tim. “You didn’t think maybe you should put up an objection?”

Tim shrugged. “Why?” he asked innocently. “It’ll be an inconvenience, but we have space. There’s a sofa bed in the back room.”

Art glared, but eventually just threw his hands in the air and stalked away into his office, slamming the door.


	2. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art's doing everything he can to keep Raylan out of his own home, so Tim and Boyd take the opportunity to talk about him.

Art had taken his revenge on Raylan in the form of time-consuming, menial assignments, designed to minimize his time at home. That left Tim with the dubious honor of babysitting Boyd Crowder and making sure he didn’t leave the house. For the first day, Tim didn’t really see much of him at all. Boyd stayed in the extra room, reading on the sofa for hours, and only coming down once to rummage in the fridge for sandwich makings. 

It was about half past six when he came down again, perhaps drawn by the smell of the leftover pasta Tim had microwaved. He accepted the plate Tim offered, and sat down at the breakfast bar. Tim was eating standing up, leaning against the counter, and sipping at a drink.

"What in God's name is that, Gutterson?"

"This?" Tim held up his glass. "It's a Sea Breeze, Crowder. Don't you own a bar?"

"Well," Boyd said, smiling big, "we don't get too many ladies in my establishment, so I have not yet had occasion to make one of them cocktails. What's in it?"

"It's cranberry and grapefruit juice, with a shitload of vodka. You want one?"

"When in Rome, I suppose." Boyd watched him put the drink together. "Does Raylan drink these with you?" Boyd asked skeptically.

Tim laughed for real at that as he handed Boyd the cocktail. "Raylan wouldn't go near one of these with a ten foot pole."

"I see," Boyd said, taking a sip. "Well, I admit it is quite refreshing. Although, if you tell anyone I said so, I'll have to shoot you in the head. You understand."

"Naturally," Tim said. 

Boyd took the last bite of his pasta and rinsed his plate off before putting it in the dishwasher. Tim wondered how long his manners would hold up, if he had to stay here more than a day or two. "I'm gonna go sit outside with this here drink and have a smoke."

Tim sighed. "Yeah, alright, I'll find something for an ashtray." He rummaged through the cabinet until he found a faded, cracked plastic cup. Raylan kept the crappiest things. He ran an inch of water into the bottom of it and handed it to Boyd.

"Thank you, Marshal."

"I think we're past that, at least around here, don't you?" He walked outside behind Boyd and sat down in the lawn chair next to him.

Boyd looked at him for a few seconds, like he was some sort of mystery, then drank some more. "This goes down so damn easy, I believe I'm gonna need another one in a minute."

"I'll make a pitcher next."

"Can I ask why you didn't mind me staying here? A lot of men would be more insecure in your shoes."

Tim shrugged. "What do I have to be insecure about? Raylan might leave me some day, but it won't be for you."

"You think he's gonna leave you for a woman, I bet."

"You know," Tim said, draining the last of his glass and standing up abruptly, "I think I'll go ahead and make some more drinks."

Boyd grinned slightly and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. Tim heard the metallic clink of a Zippo behind him as he went into the house.

As Tim mixed the pitcher, he thought about something Raylan had said to him that one night, when Crowder had come to the bar and brought Raylan that old Bible. The night they'd done the thing Tim had wanted since he and Raylan first started up. It had been a little fucked up, but in the end it had brought them closer, him and Raylan. 

Raylan had told him, "He just keeps talking until something hits bone, and then you forget about all the wrong shit he said before." It was an uncomfortable trait to be subject to. In truth, he was, and always had been, a little insecure that Raylan would change his mind about being with him, that he'd miss women too much. That maybe he'd decide to get back with Winona. It made sense. She was still beautiful, and she was the mother of his child. He hated that it was something he thought about, and he never brought it up with Raylan. He was damn sure not about to admit it to Boyd Crowder.

When he got back outside, Boyd took the pitcher from him and poured for both of them, his cigarette dangling from his lips and eyes squinted against the smoke. After he'd put it down, he said, "For what it's worth, if that were a concern of yours, I believe it would be misplaced."

Tim turned his head sharply to look at him, but he couldn't read the expression on his face at all. Why Tim was talking to this guy about it at all was beyond him. He didn't know what it was about Boyd Crowder, but he really could get under your skin. Poor Raylan. Still, he knew it would drive him crazy if he didn't get to hear why Crowder thought that.

"How would you know?" Tim asked.

Boyd shrugged, a graceful movement that suddenly made Tim think of the time he'd climbed onto his lap and kissed him, taking over in one swift, uninvited movement. Tim shifted uncomfortably as Crowder waited a long time to answer.

"I can't exactly explain how I know Raylan so well, even after all this time. I feel as if I've always known him, the way you know the streets of your hometown, or the smell of the house you grew up in." 

Tim felt a little short of breath, and he suddenly wished Raylan was home. He wanted to drag him upstairs and fuck him until he couldn't remember anything but Tim's name. 

"You alright, Gutterson?"

"Fine," Tim said. He reached for the pitcher and refilled his glass. He was pretty sure he was going to get drunk.

Boyd looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "I've been wondering something for a long time. May I ask you a question of a personal nature?"

Tim looked sidelong at him and said, "Well, you can _ask_. 

"How did it start up between you and Raylan? Did he make the first move?"

Tim pushed down a smile as he thought about that first night. God, that had been so hot, and such an amazing revelation. "No," Tim said, "not exactly. Raylan told me some things about himself in the context of a conversation we were having, and it just sort of progressed from there."

"What were you talking about?" Boyd asked.

Tim looked at him for a few seconds, then snorted softly and looked away, reaching for his drink.

Boyd was silent for awhile, pouring another glass for himself. "You know, that night at the bar, when Raylan was so drunk, I thought I could sense something between you even then. Was it before that?"

Tim made a dismissive noise that came out sounding pretty sloppy. He took another drink anyway, then said, "Please. He didn't have eyes or a mind for anyone but you that night. The look on his face when he said you were coming… he said you were his friend, and that you'd been good once. He said he'd thought the man who'd been his friend was gone, but Raylan knew he was still there."

Tim didn't have to look at Crowder to know what kind of reaction he'd gotten. He'd done it on purpose. He'd wanted to hurt him, and he wasn't even sure why. Maybe he was jealous after all.

"Anyway," Tim continued, "that was when I started to wonder. I wondered if something happened that night, and I wondered if something had happened a long time ago."

"Nothing happened that night," Boyd replied, his voice sounding a little constricted.

"I know, he told me. And he told me about a long time ago. I liked hearing about it. It... amazed me. It was like he'd taken off a mask."

Boyd nodded, drank some more and lit another cigarette. "Raylan walks around in the world like he's wearing a costume of himself. Not many people get to see him take it off. Even fewer get to see who he is on the inside, on those rare occasions when he can't keep it hidden no more."

Tim looked at him curiously. He wondered if he had ever seen what Crowder was referring to. "When did he let you see that?"

"Twice," Boyd said immediately, like he'd been ready for the question. The first time I kissed him, and then after the cave-in. After that night, he closed up to me."

"Not after he shot you?" 

"No. Ava was there. He wouldn't have let her see that. He didn't trust her enough." Boyd sighed and stood up. "I got to take a piss, and then I'm gonna try my hand at a Sea Breeze. Call it professional development."

He walked off, none too steady, and Tim thought carefully about his time with Raylan. Maybe Crowder was just being melodramatic, which seemed like a very likely possibility. Raylan had done a lot for Tim. He'd changed a lot about his life, and he'd helped Tim do the same. Raylan had been the one to move things forward at first, but when Tim had taken the step of asking him to move in together, he hadn't gotten scared off. Raylan loved him.

Tim huffed. Screw Crowder and all his goddamn words, anyway. 

Boyd came back out with a pitcher of drinks in his hand and the butt of his cigarette still dangling from his mouth. Fuck, Raylan was going to be pissed if the house smelled like smoke. Boyd sat down on the ground instead of the chair, sprawling on the lawn and facing Tim, looking up at him.

Tim poured himself a drink he most certainly did not need, and he heard Crowder chuckle, then clear his throat.

"What," Tim sighed.

"Nothing, nothing," Boyd said, shaking his head. He was taking a drink but had a silly grin he seemed to be trying to suppress.

"Yeah, right," Tim said. 

"I must be wasted," Boyd said, "because I almost asked you something unbelievably inappropriate."

"Well, you have touched my dick, Crowder, so you probably have a little more leeway than most." Tim realized in that moment that he was also, most definitely, far too drunk. 

Boyd laughed and said, "Alright then. What I wanted to know was, does Raylan still make that weird whining sound when he's getting really impatient?"

Tim grinned slowly and then started laughing from deep in his chest. He did his best to get himself under control, then in a weak voice, said, "Oh, you mean this?" He made a noise in his throat, high-pitched and faint, that morphed into a growl before he cracked up again.

Boyd's eyes shot wide open. "Shit," he breathed, "I never thought I'd hear that again," and then started laughing. 

Tim hadn't stopped. He leaned forward a little too far, lost his balance and toppled into the grass. Crowder was lying on his back, looking up at the darkening sky as his laughter tapered off. Tim propped himself on an elbow and made the sound again. They both went into renewed gales of laughter, and when Boyd finally caught his breath, he said, "Careful, Gutterson, you do that one more time and I might not be able to control myself."

He was joking, Tim knew, and they both laughed some more, but Tim was becoming aware of some tightness in his groin. He didn't want to fuck Boyd Crowder, didn't even want to kiss him, but for some reason being around him made Tim's dick hard. 

The back door opened and Raylan stepped through. He looked down at the two men and sighed. "Well, this ain't weird or anything." He eyed the mostly full pitcher on the table. "I'm guessing that ain't the first one of those."

Tim scrambled to his feet and got to Raylan as quick as he was able. "Hey," he said. Raylan gave him a half-smile and a kiss on the cheek. 

"This shit again, huh?" Raylan asked softly.

"No no no, Raylan, not that. We're just... just don't worry about it, okay? Let's go upstairs."

Raylan pressed his lips together and looked at him for a second, then said, "“Yeah, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Night, Gutterson,” Boyd said, then in a slightly more serious voice, he said, “Raylan.”

“What,” Raylan said flatly.

“You know I’m an asshole, but that he ain’t, right?”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Raylan said. He followed behind Tim as he made his clumsy way up the stairs to their bedroom. 

The bedroom door had barely clicked shut before Tim was pressing up on Raylan, kissing him and pushing his shirt up. He wasn't frantic, didn't feel that way at all, he felt heavy and languid. Everything was slowed down, but he was so hard. He leaned into Raylan's thigh so he could feel it.

"Hey," Raylan said, gently taking him by the upper arms and pushing him back, "talk to me first, okay?"

"Wha'? Why talk? Raylan, I want you so bad, I've been waiting for you to come home." He slid a hand between Raylan's legs, but was disappointed to find there wasn't much going on down there. He frowned. "What's wrong?"

Raylan uttered a frustrated sigh. "You don't know? You really must be drunk." When Tim didn't answer, except to stand there and look sad, he said, "Why are you so raring to go like this? What got you so worked up, huh?"

"Oh," Tim said, and now he felt like an asshole. "It's not like that, Raylan. I... look, me and Boyd were talking about you, and yeah, that was kind of exciting for me, but it was mostly because I was getting to talk about _you._ But every time he said something that made you seem like he owned a part of you, of your past, of who you are... all I wanted to do was get you to myself and remind you that you're mine."

"I'm yours?" Raylan raised an eyebrow at him and seemed like he might be slightly amused.

Tim grinned. "In a manner of speaking," he slurred, and Raylan laughed at him.

"You didn't let him touch you or nothing, did you?"

"Aw, baby, no way," Tim said, pushing Raylan towards the bed. "He didn't even try, actually, he was a perfect gentleman." Raylan huffed a soft laugh against his lips as Tim pushed forward again. "I love you, Raylan," he said softly. 

"Yeah, I know you do," Raylan replied, letting Tim pull him down. They shed their clothes slowly as they kissed and touched each other. 

"Raylan..." Tim panted, "I want you,” Raylan pulled up slowly on his cock and lowered his mouth to his neck. 

“Well, you got me, kid. What are you gonna do with me?”

Tim had wanted to fuck him, to take ownership in some way, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t manage it, drunk as he was. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he said. 

“No, not this time. What do _you_ want, really?” Raylan’s eyes were wide now, and Tim was pretty sure he could see fear in them. He didn’t understand why, not at all. Raylan had nothing to fear from him.

Tim shook his head slowly, then kissed him again and reached between his legs. “Just you, baby. All I want is whatever you can give me. You can fuck me, or you can give me one of those beautiful blow jobs, or you can just keep kissing me and doing what you’re doing until I come all over your hand. I really don’t care, Raylan, as long as it’s you.”

“I don’t want to move from right here,” Raylan whispered. 

Tim smiled slightly and shifted forward. Their lips brushed as they stroked each other’s cocks. Raylan’s hand was as sure at this as it was when he drew his firearm, and that thought sent a thrill of goosebumps up Tim’s back. He craned forward for a deeper kiss, and Raylan pulled him in closer so that Tim’s head rested in the crook of his shoulder. 

They gasped, sucking in each other’s air, tensed muscles rubbing against each other. They slid their feet together and locked ankles, as close as they could be be without being inside. Tim sunk his face into Raylan’s neck and breathed him in deep just as he started coming. He paused until his own spasms had passed, then jerked up harder and faster, spreading the semen that had spilled between them all over Raylan’s dick until he came too, mingling their come and making a big, sticky mess. 

“Don’t you dare get up yet, Timmy,” Raylan said, rolling flat on his back and pulling Tim partly on top of him. 

“Wasn’t going to,” Tim replied, and for once it was true. He was way too drunk to get up, or care how disgusting he was going to feel in the morning.

“Did you really get what you wanted?” Raylan asked, pushing the hair back from Tim’s face.

“I don’t know what you mean, Raylan,” Tim replied, truly perplexed. 

“I thought- I was afraid you wanted him here, like before. I was going to give that to you, if you really wanted it.”

Tim had no idea how to respond to that, so he stayed quiet. Eventually, Raylan said, “I really do love you. Sometimes I ain’t sure you believe me.”

“He said he knows you like the roads of his hometown, or some shit like that… he said hardly anyone gets to see who you really are inside, that he only saw it twice.”

Raylan lifted his head and looked Tim in the eye. “What did I tell you about the shit he says?”

“I know, I know, I just -”

“Tim,” Raylan said, “He might know those old roads, but unlike Harlan, I’ve added a shitload of infrastructure in the last twenty years. He don’t want to see it, he wants to think I’m the same, because he don’t know how to read the new map. All that new shit is yours, Tim, okay? And the old too, I ain’t trying to keep it from you. I’ve told you everything there is. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, who I am inside. I’m pretty sure he’s full of shit.”

“He said he saw it the first time he kissed you, and then after the cave-in,” Tim said, drawing his fingers up through Raylan’s hair. 

Raylan was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “Those were the most terrifying moments of my life, up to that point. Or, I guess, the moments right after the most terrifying ones. Since then, I’ve experienced much worse. It’s hard to imagine what could provoke such a reaction in me now. If my kid was in danger, I guess.” He laid his head back down on the pillow and held Tim tighter for a second. “Or you.” 

“Oh,” Tim said, but couldn’t think of another thing to say after that. He fell asleep with Raylan’s arm wrapped around him, for once in his life not worrying about the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Art get into it at work, and Raylan gets a little possessive with Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was going to be the last chapter, but I guess I need one more.

Raylan woke at 4:38 am to the sound of the shower. He was sort of impressed that Tim had made it almost the whole night without having to get cleaned up. The boy must have been drunker than Raylan had even realized.

 _Shit._ He'd been really fucked up. There's no way Raylan wanted that happening again. Even though Tim had denied it, he still thought something could have happened if he hadn't come home when he did. Probably nothing too bad, and he believed Tim would have put a stop to it, but he really didn't like the way they were rolling around on the grass like that. Raylan didn't know how much Boyd was really into guys, but it stood to reason he didn't see much of that kind of action, and Tim was cute. Hell, Boyd had already kissed him once.

The shower shut off. He heard the medicine cabinet open and and some pills being opened. The sink faucet went on and off, and then Tim was creeping across the floor back to the bed. 

"Don't bother, I'm awake," Raylan said. 

"Oh, well good. Because you probably would have woken up anyway when I tried to clean the dried come off you."

Raylan rolled onto his back and squinted up at his boy - who was not really a boy at all, and only occasionally seemed like one - crawling naked and damp across the sheets, wielding a washcloth.

"Don't worry, it's warm," Tim murmured, and proceeded to wipe at his abs, moving in slow circles downward, moving to his thighs and under his balls, but studiously ignoring his stiffening cock. 

"Keep that up and you'll have another mess on your hands," Raylan said, smiling into the darkness.

"A woman's work is never done," Tim quipped with weary humor.

Raylan grabbed his wrist and pulled him so Tim lay flush against him. "You ain't no woman," he growled, reaching for his dick, which was predictably hard, like it always seemed to be whenever Raylan wanted him. "Matter of fact, I want you to prove that to me."

"Jesus, Raylan, now?" Tim almost whined. "I got a fucking headache like you wouldn't believe. Can't I just suck you off?"

"You do whatever you think is best," Raylan said, still running his hand up and down Tim's length. 

Tim groaned, and Raylan let a slow smile spread across his face. It wasn't that he couldn't sympathize, but maybe Tim needed to learn a valuable lesson about self-control. Besides, now it was in his head, he was starting to get really into it. Somehow it felt a little like secret revenge on Art, for one thing, walking into work having been well fucked by this boy with the lovely blue eyes and stupid wavy hair that was so soft he could hardly believe it.

"Mmmm, that feels so good, baby, keep doing that, okay?" Tim said as Raylan rubbed strong fingers through his hair. He'd laid his head down on Raylan's chest and seemed to be threatening to go back to sleep. That wouldn't do at all. 

"I'll rub your poor head all you want, honey," Raylan purred into his ear, "after you fuck me into the goddamn mattress. Now come on, son, get into the spirit of things."

Tim lifted his head and frowned at Raylan in the dim light. "You know who you sound like right now?"

Raylan flipped him onto his back suddenly and bore down on him, kissing him hard enough to elicit a grunt. "You like that?" he growled, in something very close to an accusation.

"Not really," Tim said calmly, "I prefer it when you're not trying to manipulate me. But shit, Raylan, if you want it that bad all you have to do is tell me so. You know I'll do just about anything for you, right?"

Raylan rolled off of Tim and onto his back. "Goddamn it," he sighed.

Tim reached into the side table and pulled out lube, but Raylan took it from him. "Lie down and I'll suck you off, then you can go back to sleep," he said.

Tim picked the bottle back up and said, "Hell no, now I want to."

Raylan looked at his face carefully enough to see that he was telling the truth - some kind of truth, anyway, which was good enough - then reached up to cradle his jaw. "Well, come give me a kiss first," he said, and pulled Tim close. "I'm sorry."

"You're silly," Tim whispered, then pulled back and reached for the bottle again. 

Raylan had expected a sleepy and not particularly vigorous fuck, but Tim surprised him. Once he was into it, he committed. By the time they both came, sweating and shouting, the morning light was streaming in through the window, and Raylan could clearly hear the sounds of pans being put on the stove and forks clinking in a bowl.

"I think that mess you were talking about has come to pass, Raylan."

Raylan kissed him on the top of his head, burying his nose in the soft curls, now mostly dry. "Well, let's get in the shower then," he said, not moving or letting go of Tim. 

"Yeah, okay. In a minute. But I think I fulfilled the terms of our exchange, wouldn't you agree?"

Raylan chuckled and sat up, grabbed a pillow and put it over his lap. "Alright, bring it over here."

Tim smiled and laid his head on the pillow, closing his eyes as Raylan rubbed his fingertips into his scalp, scratching lightly every few passes. When Tim began to snore, Raylan eased out from under him and went to take a shower on his own. The boy was still asleep when Raylan came back out of the bathroom, and didn’t stir while he was getting dressed, so he left without saying goodbye. He’d gone above and beyond that morning, considering the state he’d been in, and Raylan figured he deserved a lie in.

He came downstairs to find Boyd sitting in the kitchen, eating eggs and toast and using Raylan’s laptop for the internet.

“You ain’t looking at porn on that, are you? It’s my work computer.” He poured himself a cup of coffee from the nearly full pot. 

“What do I need porn for, the way you two were going at it?” Boyd snapped. “I could hear you all the way down the damn hall.”

Raylan glanced over at him. He looked like his head was probably hurting just as much as Tim’s. “My apologies,” he said. “You make any more of them eggs?”

“In the oven,” Boyd said, scowling. 

Raylan pulled out a plate of eggs and toast, took some for himself and put the rest back in the oven. He sat and ate in silence, as did Boyd. “You want something for your head, I’ll go get it for you,” he said finally. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Boyd replied. “Them damn sissy cocktails your boy likes, they get you fucked up before you even realize you’re drinking anything.”

“So I noticed,” Raylan said. He took another bite of his toast, then said, “Look, Boyd, I know you knew what you were doing last night, and I don't want it happening again. Quit talking about me to him. I don't say shit to you about Ava, do I?"

Boyd looked at him with his tired, achy-looking eyes for a moment, then sighed. "You always attribute the worst possible motives to me, Raylan. I wasn't trying to do nothing. There ain't a lot of people I can talk about that shit with, that's all. Anyhow, he likes hearing about it. That ain't my fault."

"Just back off. Show a little goddamn restraint for once."

"Restraint," Boyd snorted, "you have no idea the kind of restraint I've had to show over the course of my life."

"Well, whose fault is that?" Raylan asked flatly, not looking for an answer. He got up and went back upstairs to retrieve the Advil from the master bathroom. Tim opened his eyes a crack when he walked through the room. 

"Thought you left," he said.

"Leaving now," Raylan said. He went over and kissed Tim's cheek. "Boyd made eggs if you want 'em. But maybe you should just sleep some more."

"Okay." Tim grabbed his hand and squeezed weakly. "See you later."

"Hopefully not too late," Raylan said. "I'm gonna talk to Art this morning. He has to cut this bullshit out."

Art's door was closed when Raylan got in, and Rachel kept giving him little worried glances, like she'd heard something but wasn't sure it was true. Finally, Raylan looked at her directly and said, "What?"

"Nothing, Raylan," she said, and then a moment later, "Is Boyd Crowder really staying with you?"

"Yeah," Raylan sighed. "He flipped on Theo Tonin and he's gonna have a target on his back."

"Raylan..." She hesitated, glancing at Art's still-shut door. "Are you and Art okay? Why is he so pissed at you?"

"I'm pissed at him, too," Raylan said, scowling at his desk. "We'll be fine."

"You're not going to tell me why?"

Raylan shook his head. "It ain't such a big deal. He's just mad at me for not being honest with him sooner, about myself. And I'm mad at him for...for the fact that it would have made a difference. That if he'd known about me, he would have spoken to me differently."

Rachel nodded. "Yeah, alright. I can understand that. But why is this suddenly an issue now? He's known about you and Tim for months."

Raylan looked at her for a few moments, then said, "This ain't about me and Tim."

"And Boyd Crowder is staying at your house, while Art has you on prison transfers and cold cases," she said slowly. 

Raylan just looked at her a little longer, then cleared his throat, stood up and walked over to knock on Art's door.

"Yeah," Art barked. He looked up and pulled his reading glasses off when Raylan walked in. "What is it, deputy?" 

Raylan closed the door and stood facing Art, hands on hips. "I need for you to stop punishing me with all this extra work," he said.

"Why do you assume it's a punishment?" Art asked, leaning back and putting on an amiable face.

"If it ain't a punishment, then it's you thinking you're doing someone a favor, but I don't know who that would be."

"I'm just trying to avoid entanglements, son."

"I ain't your son," Raylan said, "and you don't need to worry about that. But how fair do you think it is, making Tim babysit him all damn day and into the evening? It's a strain, Art. You have to stop."

Art glared at him for a bit, then said, "Fine. Why don't you take a half-day here and then go on home to your boyfriend and your ex-boyfriend."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Raylan said, more pissed off than ever, "and you've made yourself perfectly goddamn clear, by the way." He slammed Art's door, then left the outer office as well. He walked down the street to a coffee shop, even though what he really wanted was a couple of drinks.

When he got back, Art's office was empty. _Good._ He went through a file he'd been handed the day before - a check forging ring that had been inactive for almost a year - and attempted to read through it. After about five minutes, he realized he hadn't absorbed anything, and threw it on his desk in disgust. 

"I'm taking the day," he said, to Rachel and whoever else might be in hearing distance. 

"Fine with me," Rachel sighed. "Tell Tim I said hi." Raylan nodded and started to walk out, when she added, "Raylan, I really hate to see you and Art like this. Whatever he said, he probably regrets it."

Raylan knew that was probably true, but it wasn't quite good enough. He waved at her and got in the car to go home. When he got there, he found that their one parking space had been filled, but not by Tim's car. 

He parked on the street and walked the half a block back to the house. He came inside to find Art and Tim in the living room. Raylan frowned at them. 

"What's going on?" he asked. 

Tim looked up at him, seeming non-plussed by the whole thing. "Art wanted to talk to me. What are you doing back so soon?"

Raylan gave him a dark look, then turned to Art. "Should I go until you're done?"

"No, son- Raylan- will you please sit down for a minute and let me say something without biting my head off for a minute?"

Raylan sat next to Tim on the sofa, across from Art, who had taken the arm chair. He leaned back, folded his arms and nodded.

"I came to talk to Timothy because I figured if you thought I owed you an apology, I probably owe him one too. And I thought he might be more receptive to it than you are, at least today." 

"I told him I didn't think he owed me one, he never said anything bad to me, really," Tim said. 

"That don't mean he wasn't thinking it," Raylan said.

"Well, that's true, Raylan. I probably was, some of the time. And I know I said plenty to you, before I knew about you. And that ain't an excuse, I do know that. I could claim my age or my upbringing as an excuse, but I won't do that. The truth is, I never bothered to examine my prejudices in any particularly deep way. I didn't really give it much thought until I was confronted with it, and I hope you'll eventually believe me when I say I regret that very much."

"But?" Raylan prompted.

"No buts," Art said. "If you have anything to say to me, I'm sure you'll say it in your own time, just like I did." He stood up and picked up his jacket. "I'm heading back to the office. You can take a shift here with Crowder tomorrow, and Tim can come into the office. If he trusts you, no reason I shouldn't. And by the way, it never was homophobia that made that whole situation distasteful to me, whether you believe it or not."

He left without saying anything else, and Raylan let him go. Tim got up and walked him out. When he came back, he sat next to Raylan again and said, "You could probably cut him just the tiniest bit of slack, don't you think? Was the shit he said _that_ bad?"

Raylan sighed and leaned his head back into the couch. "Not really. Mostly just stupid shit, hairdresser jokes and buttsex jokes. Unfunny and ignorant, but mostly just the things people say because they think they're supposed to. I don't think it was ever particularly mean-spirited."

"So why this sudden anger about it?"

"I don't know. Part of it's this situation, him giving me shit for not telling him about Boyd. I know I was wrong not to, but it grates on me to admit that to him. The rest of it...I guess it's you. Or sort of. Being with you. It ain't as easy as it used to be for me to distance myself from that."

"Oh. Well...sorry?" Tim said.

"You know better than that," Raylan replied. "I'm glad for it. I'm just telling you why."

"You're glad you're pissed at Art?" Tim asked, reaching over to loosen Raylan's tie.

"I'm glad that shit makes me mad. It should have done, before, but I wouldn't let it. I feel bad about that."

"Damn, Raylan," Tim said, unbuttoning Raylan's top button, "you're adorable."

"I am?" Raylan laughed. He put his hand over Tim's. "I'm pretty sure you've never called me that before."

"Well, I think there have been a few occasions when I've had the thought, but held myself back from telling you." He swung around and sat on Raylan's thighs and leaned on his shoulders. "Like when you were sick that time, back to the apartment. You were sort of adorable then."

"Insufferable, you mean."

"Mostly, but not when you were too weak to move. I kinda liked that."

Raylan raised his eyebrows at that. _That could be fun,_ he thought. "Yeah, what other times?"

"I don't know, baby. A lot of the time, actually." Tim cradles Raylan's face in his hands, holding it like a precious artifact or something. "I should tell you more. I love you so much, you know?"

"I do know," Raylan said, smiling at him. Tim kissed him then, and Raylan was just about to suggest they move it upstairs when he heard footsteps coming down. 

"Pardon me, gentlemen, I was just on the way to the kitchen. Don't let me interrupt." 

"Too late," Raylan said, easing Tim off of his lap. Boyd was already on his way down the hall, so Raylan leaned in and kissed Tim behind the ear, whispered, " _Get naked and wait for me in bed_ ," then got up and followed Boyd into the kitchen.

"Hey," Raylan said, sitting at the breakfast bar as Boyd made himself a sandwich.

"Hey," Boyd said with some wariness. "You want a roast beef sandwich?"

"No thanks," Raylan said. 

"Did you come in to warn me off your boy again? I can assure you, I've kept my distance all morning."

"No," Raylan replied, "and I'm... kind of sorry about that." He looked up and met Boyd's eyes for a second, before Boyd looked away. "I get it. Wanting to have someone you can just talk to about shit, without having to worry about it or make some big announcement where then they're gonna start thinking of you different. I know, Boyd."

Boyd put down the knife he was using and stared at Raylan. "You get shot at or something? Hit in the head?"

Raylan huffed and shook his head. "I just recently had cause to remember when I couldn't talk about it. Or thought I couldn't - same difference, really. People say shit that hurts, right? But you gotta laugh anyway. And you can never just be easy about it. Anyway. It's okay if you want to talk to Tim, I don't care. Or me, Boyd. You can talk to me. Us - our time together - it doesn't have to be a source of hostility. I loved you. You loved me. Whatever else has come between then and now, it doesn't change what that was."

Boyd calmly cut his sandwich in half, then sat down across from Raylan. He took a bite and chewed it, swallowed, then said, "Goddamn, Raylan, you really have turned into a huge fag."

Raylan's eyes bulged and he opened his mouth to tell him off, but Boyd reached over the counter to grab his hand. "I'm kidding. It was a joke. That was a nice thing you said. I did love you, Raylan. I still miss...that. You. Sometimes."

Raylan frowned. He'd known that, sort of, but hearing him say it made him a little uncomfortable. "Yeah," he said, "but you got Ava. And she's gonna get out. And maybe you can..." He stopped, because it really was none of his goddamn business what Boyd did, if he ever got out of crime or not. He probably wouldn't.

"And you got this kid," Boyd said, laughing a little. "He's a sweetheart. He's got a lot going for him." 

"I think so," Raylan said, then stood up. "Right now his number one quality is being naked and hard and waiting for me in my bed, so I'm gonna head on up now."

"I'll just go ahead and finish this sandwich, but you enjoy yourself, Raylan. Don't do nothin' I wouldn't do."

Raylan snorted. "Never did find anything you wouldn't do." 

Boyd looked at him for a few seconds and gave him a faint smile, then took another bite of his lunch. 

Raylan jogged up the stairs to find Tim waiting for him, looking sexy as hell under the white sheets, lying down with his arm thrown behind his head.

"You look like porn," Raylan told him with a salacious grin. "Tasteful porn, though."

"You look like the rough kind," Tim replied. "Daddy porn. That might just be the gray hair though."

"You know, I came up here planning to tell you how goddamn special you are, and suck your dick, and give you a back rub, but if you're gonna be like that..."

“Oh god, shut up and get over here.” Tim propped himself up on his elbows. “Daddy." He tried to roll out of the way to avoid Raylan's attack, but wasn't quite fast enough. Raylan leapt on top of him, pushed him down into the mattress and held down his arms. 

"What was that?" Raylan panted, grinning fiercely down at him. 

"Baby," Tim said, grinning back, "I said get over here, baby."

"Hmpf," Raylan scoffed, but he kissed him anyway. "Clearly, you must be made to pay, but how?" he pretended to ponder. "Maybe I should just get up and leave."

"The hell you say," Tim muttered, and grabbed Raylan's hips. "Turned on as you are, I don't want you downstairs hanging around Crowder."

"No?" 

"I don't want that anymore, Raylan, I told you. Not for real, anyway. Come on man, why are we still talking? Take your dick out."

Raylan laughed softly and ran his hand up Tim's bare chest. "Why don't you take it out for me," he suggested, and kissed him again. He gasped as Tim did just that, and slid his fingers around him. 

He wriggled out of his jeans, then straddled Tim's thighs, looking down as he unbuttoned his shirt. Tim put his hand on him again and watched. 

"God, you are so sexy, Raylan," he said. "How do you walk around like that all day?"

Raylan just snorted and threw his shirt on the floor. He crawled down off of Tim and moved down the bed, then took Tim's cock into his mouth all at once. Tim's body jerked, bucking up into his throat, but Raylan hung on. Tim voice was in his ears, which really got him going. 

The first time they'd fooled around, Tim had been so quiet that Raylan had felt a little insulted, but now you couldn't shut him up.   
Tim grabbed his head to try to pull him off, but he pushed it away. He didn't want to stop. His cock was sliding against the sheets, Tim was moaning, and Raylan was pretty sure he'd come just like that if it took much longer. He had no idea what it was about sucking Tim's dick that got him so hot. Sucking cock in general was enjoyable, he supposed, but he really got off on it with Tim. 

Tim let out a few stuttering cries and dug his fingers into his shoulder, and Raylan felt him explode in his mouth. He pulled up fast and jerked himself off on Tim's chest, groaning with relief, then flopped down by his side. 

"Whew," he panted, closing his eyes and blowing out a big breath.

"Jesus, Raylan," Tim said, grinning loosely, "in a hurry or something?"

Raylan didn't answer, other than to fling an arm across his chest and grunt with satisfaction.   
Tim put his hand over Raylan's wrist and said, "So, are you gonna make it up with Art tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll take care of it," Raylan replied. "Hopefully Boyd will be gone in the morning, so that'll make it easier, I think."

Tim was quiet for a bit, and Raylan knew there was something else he needed to say, though he didnt really want to. "Timmy, I know I was an asshole about that shit last night-"

"And this morning," Tim put in.

"And this morning. It ain't that I don't trust you."

"You don't trust him? What do you think he'd do, Raylan? He's a lot of things, but I don't think rapist is one of them. Besides, I think I could take him."

Raylan laughed. "It ain't that either. I know I can't control what goes on in your mind, but I still get weird about it sometimes."

"Can't help it you're a dumbass, I guess." Tim propped himself up and looked down at him. "I can't control what goes on in yours either. You think I don't feel weird when some woman flirts with you?"

"Okay," Raylan said, "but there ain't some woman staying in our house and getting drunk with me." He sighed. "But that ain't what it's about anyway. You know what it is."

Tim nodded and kissed him, then laid his head down on his chest. "He's kind of fucked up, and lonely, and sad, but it's his fault it's like that. I don't feel bad for him, except when I think about how he had you once, and loved you, and lost you."

"Yeah, well," Raylan sighed, "shit happens. What if I'd let him come to me like he thought he wanted? I wouldn't be where I am, might not have met Winona, might not have a kid now, might not have met you. I'm not sorry. Ain't my fault he went so wrong."

"No, of course it isn't, Raylan. You don't really think that, do you?"

He sort of did think it, but he couldn't change any of it now. Boyd was who he was and if he ever wanted to change, he'd have to do it for himself. It wasn't on him, or God, or Ava, because they hadn't managed to make that happen. "Nope," he said, "not really. Now go on and get the shower I know you want, and we can order food in a bit, alright?"

Tim patted his arm and hopped out of bed. Raylan stayed in place, thinking about what he was going to say to Art the next day. He wasn't looking forward to it.


End file.
